#yikeen

“ i was starting to worry the birthday girl would opt out on getting her gifts. i had to pull some strings to make them happen, ” khalid’s smile is nothing like people describe it to be right now. “ i’d throw a feast for you if you’d let me,” and then, gentler, “ in any case, happy birthday, rina. ” (2/2).

it’s catarina’s birthday! / accepting.

          much as she’s tried to keep the day a secret from the other students, she should have known claude would unravel this one. she figures it the second she finds the smooth parchment slid underneath her door, his handwriting painfully recognizable. why she knows what his handwriting looks like by now, not even catarina knows. perhaps it’s the glances she’s stolen across the desks in lecture, when she’s sneaked peeks at his notes in hopes of following at least somewhat closely along. 

          she considers, for at least the better part of an hour, to ignore his invitation. it might save her the embarrassment of another trick, or another instance where she blushes hotter than the belly of a morfian red scorpion. what is it about him that turns her inside-out? it’s like she’s started ingesting a venom she’s never had before, and her body is fighting the fever of him. that’s as close as it gets when she attempts to parse claude in her mind, but he’ll only best her all the more if she denies him some meeting in the gardens. and besides, birthday or not, she’s curious if he’ll come through on his word. 

          marianne asks if she’s all right on her way there. she all but stomps past the benches and shrubbery and shrugs her off with a marianne-specific patience. 

          she finds him in the storm of sweet-smelling flowers under the sun. his cheekbones sharp, eyes sharper, hair disheveled and lovely. when he smiles at her, she’s cut through. what is she doing? surely, this is just some game to him. but he speaks, sometimes, so thoughtfully and kindly, that her insides twist and dissolve like honey in spiced tea. catarina freezes between two rows of peonies, pulling her hands close to her chest as she eyes him dubiously. “opt out? you don’t seem very optional to me.” this –– whatever ‘this’ is –– she couldn’t get away if she tried. not even if she wanted to, and she does want to, and she does not want to at all. she thinks she might slip out of the immunity she’s building if they stop, and she’s not ready for that kind of sick yet. 

          she takes the plant into her hands first, snorting at the pleasant sight of it. catarina runs the tip of her finger along the bulb, grinning down as she nestles it against her chest. “whoever told you the day i was born is in for it. i’ll get it out of you, riegan. watch me.” she speaks the threat almost fondly, still careening with interest into the pitcher plant’s spell. “this’ll be so cute under my window. i guess i could pull a move or two for you, if byleth really does decide to show me how the dance competitions here go. don’t expect me to do this the fódlan way, though.” remembering belatedly that this isn’t the only thing he’s brought her, catarina blinks back up, only to find a very distinctly new smile on his face. 

          it feels like she hasn’t been paying close enough attention until now. has she simply missed this one before? how cruel. her heart trips dumbly over itself. she finds a misplaced gratitude that she hasn’t missed this one –– smiles back so reflexively and so unlike herself that she almost covers her face. the shock must shine in her eyes as she reaches back down for the ornate box, which she opens as carefully as she can. 

           “oh… gods.” she regards the earring’s design with so much heavy affection that she feels like she’s swallowed a dream. this earring, she’d seen at an almyran bazaar when she was very young and visiting her mother’s family. her mama had attempted to bargain with the seller for it at a lower price, but he wouldn’t budge. there were many like it in all sorts of colors, and she remembers imagining the way it might fit against the lobe of her ear, where she might tip her head and it would dangle against her throat. “how did you–– what did you do? to get this?” she forces the bauble in her right earlobe out with one hand, struggling to shove everything into her opposite arm and tuck the first earring away. as she replaces it, she tilts her head at him, beaming. lengthening her neck to show off the jewel. it makes her homesick and it makes her so happy her entire chest aches. 

          “no –– forget it. tell me, how do i look?” 

          then she’s so embarrassed, she almost turns and runs. but that would be the most unimaginable loss. if she’s playing into anyone’s hand here, it had better be her own. 

          “please don’t answer that question. and please don’t throw me a feast. i have a better idea.”  when she tucks the pretty box into her satchel, careful with the pitcher plant still resting at one side, she takes his hand in hers and starts to tug them out beyond the gardens. “let’s just eat dinner. i have a little seasoning i brought from home that should suit today’s meal well –– and you can have my seconds, as thanks.” 

          the tinkling sound of her new earring makes her want to whirl and watch her skirts flare. dragging him to the dining hall is enough. 

          intrigue writes into the lines of his features, cold with a radiant inhumanity, and warm with an urge to understand. “you’ll have to forgive the intrusion on my part. you see – i have a feeling our best interests might align more than you think.” 

IVORY SMILE NEVER TRULY FADES FROM SIGHT. his visage, miraculously, still beaming even after his heart felt a surge of pain. ❛ oh, this? ❜ thumb presses lightly ‘gainst his own skin, tracing the fine edges of a faded scar. a battle to remember; a reminder of the man he’s meant to be. 

    THERE’S AN ODD , TWIST .  it takes root in his rib cage . and it aches where his heart has chosen the untimely manner of stuttering and stuttering from a few simple words . he blinks , slightly frozen from the admission . from golden eyes and honeyed lips and sun . he wonders what prompted this admission . he wonders what made alucard feel to confess such highly constructed thoughts of him . 

      and then , he wonders if he was prepared for those answers . so he quickly cuts the chord on their wires . and goes back to the small little gadget he was tinkering with in his hands . “ i’m nothing of the sort , ” he says quietly , a little more hastily than necessary . as the heat pools in his cheeks , tinkering and tinkering , avoiding eye contact . his heart continues to stutter like the traitorous bastard he is . no doubt alucard can hear that .